Part 6

It is very fond of sliding down hill. On the slopes by ponds and rivers, it enjoys itself in a very odd fashion. It lies with its fore-feet bent backward, and pushes itself forward with its hind-feet, going down the snowy or muddy slope with as much pleasure as if it were a schoolboy “coasting.” A number of fish-otters thus amusing themselves must present a very ludicrous sight.

These furry little quadrupeds can stay a long time under water, swimming swiftly and without noise; so that the fish they follow seldom escape them. If the prey is small, the otters do not trouble themselves to go far with it, but bite off the most delicate morsels and throw the rest away. When they catch a large fish, however, they drag it ashore and feed upon it at their leisure. When fish are not plentiful enough, the otters, grown bold from necessity, will attack ducks or any other waterfowl within reach. They are so strong, and bite so fiercely, that the animals they pursue may well regard them with terror.

Their habitations are really safe hiding-places. They burrow under the ground, and make the entrance of their “nest” under water; so that no land-enemies can pursue them: certainly, no water-foe can follow them into the hollow made by them in the bank. This proves that the crafty nature of the weasel is not wanting in the otter.

They dig upward four or five feet, or even more; and at the end of the tunnel they make a little room, which they line with moss and grass, for the comfort of the baby-otters. This underground room has no need of windows; but it does need ventilation, and a minute air-hole, leading, like a chimney, to the surface of the earth, is an important part of otter house-building.

When taken young, otters can be tamed and taught to catch fish for their masters, being trained to hunt as dogs are trained for the chase. “I have seen one,” says Goldsmith, “go to a gentleman’s pond at the word of command, drive up the fish into a corner, and, having seized upon the largest, bring it off in its mouth to its master.”

Otters differ very much in size and color. Fish-otters are from two to three feet long, and sea-otters--the largest of the family--are somewhat longer. These sea-otters are very much prized for their soft, glossy, black fur. Some of the species, however are white, with a yellow tinge; others are dark-brown, with yellow spots under the throat. No doubt all of you have seen caps, and gloves, and other coverings made of the soft, warm fur of the otter.

_Word Exercise._

weasel (_wē´zl_) leisure (_lē´zhur_) trŏp’i-cal resembles (_re-zĕm´bls_) Sī-bē-ri-a rē´al-ly burrow (_bŭr´rō_) A-mĕr´i-ca par-tĭc´-ū-lar A-las´ka lū´di-croŭs vĕn-ti-lā´tion

_Phrase Exercise._

1. General conformation.--2. Aquatic tribes.--3. Bleak coast.--4. _Wild_ parts.--5. Odd fashion.--6. Ludicrous sight.--7. Furry quadrupeds.--8. Delicate morsels.--9. Crafty nature.--10. Minute air-hole.--11. Differ in size.--12. Much prized.

XXXIII.--THE IVY GREEN.

CHARLES DICKENS.

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green, That creepeth o’er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that years have made Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he; How closely he twineth, how tight he clings To his friend, the huge Oak-tree! And slyly he traileth along the ground, And his leaves he gently waves, As he joyously hugs and crawleth around The rich mould of dead men’s graves. Creeping where grim death has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed, And nations have scattered been, But the stout old Ivy shall never fade From its hale and hearty green. The brave old plant, in its lonely days, Shall fatten upon the past, For the stateliest building man can raise Is the Ivy’s food at last. Creeping on, where time has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

XXXIV.--THE SEA.

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER.

The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth’s wide regions round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies.

I’m on the Sea! I’m on the Sea! I am where I would ever be, With the blue above, and the blue below, And silence whereso’er I go: If a storm should come, and awake the deep, What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, oh how I love, to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft its tempest tune, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the south-west blasts do blow!

I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great Sea more and more, And backward flew to her billowy breast, Like a bird that seeketh its mother’s nest: And a mother she was and is to me; For I was born on the open Sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn, In the noisy hour when I was born; And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; And never was heard such an outcry wild As welcomed to life the Ocean-child.

I’ve lived since then, in calm and strife, Full fifty summers a sailor’s life, With wealth to spend, and power to range, But never have sought, nor sighed for change; And Death, whenever he comes to me, Shall come on the wild unbounded sea!

_Word Exercise._

sighed porpoise´(_por´pŭs_) bil´low-y dol´phins (_-fins_) cradled foam´ing tem´pest creature burst´ing un-bound´ed

XXXV.--HO! BREAKERS ON THE WEATHER BOW.

SWAIN.

Ho! breakers on the weather bow, And hissing white the sea; Go, loose the topsail, mariner, And set the helm a-lee; And set the helm a-lee, my boys, And shift her while ye may; Or not a living soul on board Will view the light of day!

Aloft the seaman daringly Shook out the rattling sail; The danger fled--she leapt a-head Like wild stag through the gale; Like wild stag through the gale, my boys, All panting as in fear, And trembling as her spirit knew Destruction in the rear!

Now slacken speed--take wary heed-- All hands haul home the sheet; To Him who saves, amidst the waves, Let each their prayer repeat; Let each their prayer repeat, my boys, For but a moment’s gain Lay ’tween our breath and instant death, Within that howling main.

XXXVI.--A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR.

CHARLES DICKENS.

There was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thought of a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and his constant companion. These two used to wonder all day long. They wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the height and blueness of the sky; they wondered at the goodness and the power of God, who made the lovely world.

They used to say to one another sometimes, “Supposing all the children upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky be sorry?” They believed they would be sorry. “For,” said they, “the buds are the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol down the hillsides are the children of the water; and the smallest bright specks, playing at hide-and-seek in the sky all night, must surely be the children of the stars; and they would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children of men, no more.”

There was one clear-shining star that used to come out in the sky before the rest, near the church spire, above the graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night they watched for it, standing hand in hand at a window. Whoever saw it first cried out, “I see the star!” And often they cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it, that, before lying down on their beds, they always looked out once again, to bid it good-night; and when they were turning round to sleep they used to say, “God bless the star!”

But while she was still very young--oh, very, very young!--the sister drooped, and came to be so weak, that she could no longer stand at the window at night; and then the child looked sadly out by himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient, pale face on the bed, “I see the star!” and then a smile would come upon the face, and a little, weak voice used to say, “God bless my brother and the star!”

And so the time came, all too soon! when the child looked out alone, and when there was no face on the bed; and when there was a little grave among the graves, not there before; and when the star made long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears.

Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining way from earth to heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great world of light, where many more such angels waited to receive him.

All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon the people who were carried up into the star; and some came out from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people’s necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, and were so happy in their company, that, lying in his bed, he wept for joy.

But there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them one he knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the host. His sister’s angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said to the leader among those who had brought the people thither, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “No.” She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, and cried, “O sister, I am here! Take me!” And then she turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and the star was shining into the room, making long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears. From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on the Home he was to go to when his time should come; and he thought that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his sister’s angel gone before. There was a baby born to be a brother to the child; and while he was so little that he never yet had spoken a word, he stretched his tiny form out on the bed, and died.

Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the company of angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels, with their beaming eyes all turned upon those people’s faces. Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “Not that one, but another.” As the child beheld his brother’s angel in her arms, he cried, “O sister, I am here! Take me!” And she turned and smiled upon him, and the star was shining.

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books, when an old servant came to him, and said, “Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son!” Again at night he saw the star, and all the former company. Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “Thy mother!” A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the mother was reunited to her two children. And he stretched out his arms, and cried, “O mother, sister, and brother, I am here! Take me!” And they answered him, “Not yet,” and the star was shining.

He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning gray, and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his face bedewed with tears, when the star opened once again. Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “Nay, but his maiden daughter.” And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and he said, “My daughter’s head is on my sister’s bosom, and her arm is round my mother’s neck, and at her feet there is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from her--God be praised!” And the star was shining.

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow, and his back was bent. And one night, as he lay upon his bed, his children standing around, he cried, as he had cried so long ago, “I see the star!” They whispered to one another, “He is dying.” And he said, “I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and I move towards the star as a child. And, O my Father, now I thank Thee that it has so often opened, to receive those dear ones who await me!” And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave.

XXXVII.--HANNAH BINDING SHOES.

LUCY LARCOM.

Poor lone Hannah, Sitting at the window binding shoes. Faded, wrinkled, Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse. Bright-eyed beauty once was she, When the bloom was on the tree; Spring and winter, Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Not a neighbor Passing, nod or answer will refuse To her whisper, “Is there from the fishers any news?” Oh, her heart’s adrift with one On an endless voyage gone! Night and morning, Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Fair young Hannah, Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos; Hale and clever, For a willing heart and hand he sues. May-day skies are all aglow, And the waves are laughing so! For her wedding Hannah leaves her window and her shoes.

May is passing; Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos. Hannah shudders, For the mild south-wester mischief brews. Round the rocks of Marblehead, Outward bound a schooner sped; Silent, lonesome, Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

’Tis November; Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews. From Newfoundland Not a sail returning will she lose, Whispering hoarsely: “Fishermen, Have you--have you heard of Ben?” Old with watching, Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Twenty winters Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views. Twenty seasons! Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o’er the sea: Hopeless, faithful, Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

_Word Exercise._

gay´ly wrinkled (_rĭngk´kld_) mischief (_mĭs´chif_) hoarsely (_hōrs´ly_) boughs voy´age stitch´ing No-vem´ber whispering (_hwĭs´per-ing_) shŭd´ders lone´some Newfoundland

_Phrase Exercise._

1. In a _mournful muse_.--2. Her heart’s _adrift_.--3. Hale and clever.--4. Skies _aglow_.--5. No tear her _wasted_ cheek _bedews_.--6. _Old with_ watching.--7. Bleach the _ragged_ shore.--8. Silently chase.--9. Twenty _seasons_.--10. _Hopeless_ Hannah.

XXXVIII.--JACK IN THE PULPIT.

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Jack in the Pulpit Preaches to-day, Squirrel and song-sparrow, High on their perch, Hear the sweet lily-bells Ringing to church.

Come, hear what his reverence Rises to say, In his low, painted pulpit, This calm Sabbath-day. Fair is the canopy Over him seen, Pencilled by Nature’s hand Black, brown, and green. Green is his surplice, Green are his bands; In his queer little pulpit The little priest stands.

In black and gold velvet, So gorgeous to see, Comes with his bass voice The chorister bee. Green fingers playing Unseen on wind-lyres,-- Low singing bird-voices,-- These are his choirs. The violets are deacons; I know by their sign That the cups which they carry Are purple with wine. And the columbines bravely As sentinels stand On the look-out, with all their Red trumpets in hand.

Meek-faced anemones Drooping and sad; Great yellow violets Smiling out glad; Buttercups’ faces Beaming and bright; Clovers, with bonnets-- Some red and some white; Daisies, their white fingers Half-clasped in prayer; Dandelions proud of The gold of their hair; Innocents, children Guileless and frail, Meek little faces Upturned and pale; Wild-wood geraniums, All in their best, Languidly leaning In purple gauze dressed;-- All are assembled This sweet Sabbath day To hear what the priest in his pulpit will say.

Look! white Indian pipes On the green mosses lie! Who has been smoking Profanely so nigh? Rebuked by the preacher The mischief is stopped, And the sinners, in haste, Have their little pipes dropped. Let the wind, with the fragrance Of fern and black-birch, Blow the smell of the smoking Clean out of the church!

So much for the preacher: The sermon comes next;-- Shall we tell how he preached it, And what was his text? Alas! like too many Grown-up folk who play At worship in churches Man-builded to-day-- We heard not the preacher Expound or discuss; But we looked at the people And they looked at us; We saw all their dresses, Their colors and shapes, The trim of their bonnets, The cut of their capes; We heard the wind-organ, The bee and the bird, But of Jack in the Pulpit we heard not a word!

XXXIX.--THE BEAVER.

There are few animals that can teach us more useful lessons than the beaver.

They are very timid animals. If we went to places where they are common, it would be very difficult to find them and see what they do.

The beaver is between two and three feet long, and one foot high, and is covered with brown hair. Its eyes are very small and far apart; its ears also are small and its nose blunt. It has very strong, sharp teeth, and a long tail shaped somewhat like the blade of an oar. This tail has no hair or fur on it, but is covered with little scales like those of a fish. The hind feet of the beaver have a thin skin between the toes. This shows that the beaver is fitted for swimming. During the summer these animals live in holes near the banks of rivers. They are very social animals. They never live alone. They usually go in parties, and build a little “beaver town.” They have some means of making known their wants to each other. They know they will be safer in water than on land, so they try to find a pond where they can build their town. If they can not do this, they will choose a running stream with some trees on the banks.

The first thing they do, is to make a dam, right across the stream. They have neither saws nor hatchets with which to cut down the trees; but they use their sharp, strong teeth, and gnaw and gnaw away, until they bring down tree after tree. These little wood-cutters know very well how to do this; otherwise the trees might fall and kill them. When they have gnawed nearly through the trunk, away they run to see if the tree is beginning to bend. If it is still straight, they set to work again; but the moment they hear it crack, off they run to keep out of danger.

When the tree is down, they gnaw off all the branches in the same way, and then cut the trunk into short pieces, and roll them down to the water’s edge. Then they go to work at another tree, and still another, until they have cut down all they want. These logs of wood, kept in their places by mud and stones, make a dam, and this dam stops the water and causes it to rise around their houses and cover the openings which are at the bottom, and helps to keep them safe from danger.

Then the houses are built of mud, stones, sticks, and small branches twined in and out to keep them fast. These houses are several feet high and are very thick. There are two rooms in them, one at the bottom, under water, which they use for a store-room, and the other, at the top, above the water, for a living-room. The floor of this room is covered with soft moss.

But these wise beavers know that they must have a store of food for the winter, as well as a snug little house to live in. They gather logs of wood and branches, and put them away in their store-room. The bark of these logs and some water plants supply them with food. When they are “at home” during the winter months in their “beaver town,” they always have a sentinel to keep watch, and if any one comes near, he gives the alarm by striking the water with his broad, flat tail.

There are no idle beavers. They not only work hard, but with great skill and care.

_Phrase Exercise._

1. Useful lessons.--2. Where they are _common_.--3. The _blade_ of an oar.--4. _Social_ animals.--5. Usually go in parties.--6. _Right_ across the stream.--7. If it is still straight.--8. _Stops_ the water.--9. _Twined_ in and out.--10. For a living-room.--11. A _store_ of food.--12. He gives the alarm.--13. _Supply_ them with food.--14. They have a _sentinel to keep watch_.--15. Work with great skill and care.

XL.--THE ANGEL’S WHISPER.

SAMUEL LOVER.

A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that when a child smiles in its sleep it is ‘talking with angels.’--LOVER.

A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wild raging sea; And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman’s dwelling, And she cried, “Dermot, darling, oh come back to me!”

Her beads while she numbered, The baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee: “Oh, blessed be that warning, My child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

“And while they are keeping Bright watch o’er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me! And say thou would’st rather They’d watch o’er thy father!-- For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.”

The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see; And closely caressing Her child, with a blessing, Said, “I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.”

XLI.--THE RAPID.

CHARLES SANGSTER.